Page 7 of The Lady Who Left (The Flower Sisters #4)
A light still burned on the third floor of Croydon House, one block off St. Helen’s Square. Archie had watched that light for too long now, the appropriate window for visiting long since past. He’d needed less than an hour to track down the Marquess of Croydon’s York residence and mere minutes to march up to the front door.
But he couldn’t knock. What would he say?
I want to help you.
Why did you lie to me?
What did I do wrong?
Instead, he’d sat on a bench halfway down the block and watched as the lights extinguished, leaving the single window glowing. Was that Mary’s—
No, there was no Mary. Lady Croydon lived in that house, a house her husband owned. The protective shell around his heart, delicate on the best of days, thickened a bit with that thought. He’d only started to piece himself together after she’s left him that night.
Was he truly considering bringing her into his life, even as a client?
Archie pushed to his feet with a groan, startling an elderly gentleman walking his basset hound across the street; after giving the man a weak wave of apology, he set off towards the luxe double doors of the pub at the end of the block, hoping a decent pint would shake him out of his vacillation.
He wove past the banquette tables with their plush quilted seats to the bar, leaning against the brass rail to catch the bartender’s attention. Through the racks of liquor, he caught his reflection in the mirrored surface, the waves in the copper paneling distorting his features. Could he still recognize the man he’d wanted to be as a boy? All he had was a collection of what he didn’t want, what he couldn’t be. Now? He was about to walk away from a woman in need.
“Archie? Is that you?”
He stood and laughed, his mood instantly lightened. “Nathan Landon, as I live and breathe.” He clasped the man’s hand and embraced him with the other. “How long has it been?”
Nathan gestured towards the empty stool by Archie’s side, and when he nodded, the man sat, then signaled the bartender, who suddenly paid them attention. “Well, you walked out on us seven months ago, if the tally on my desk is accurate. We still have a seat for you, if you want it. ”
Archie’s cheeks heated as he considered his friend. Nathan had been the first to welcome Archie onto the rugby team at Yorkshire College, and the man had encouraged Archie to take up the study of law. When he’d graduated, Nathan’s recommendation had landed him an apprenticeship with Messrs. Chapin & Baines, one of the finest firms in Leeds. They’d only recently opened an office in York proper, with Nathan and Archie the most promising barristers in the firm.
Until Archie grew bored and quit.
“I still have a jersey in your size,” Archie said, “if you feel like joining the Rovers again.”
Nathan chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that reminded Archie of the years of shared friendship between them. “I doubt it would fit over this,” he said, rubbing his protruding midsection. “Besides, my wife won’t let me crack my head into things when it’s putting supper on the table, yeah?”
Archie took a sip of the port that appeared before him. He hated port, but took another sip. “How is Eveline?”
Nathan leaned in. “Expecting again. So if you have some clients you can send my way, keep this starving man in mind!”
He hoped his responding laugh conveyed some of the happiness he felt for his friend, but Archie’s insides twisted. Nathan lived in a palatial home down the River Ouse with his wife and son—and soon would welcome another. Rumor was his name was likely to appear in the letterhead alongside Chapin and Baines before long, a legacy to be proud of, one his children would celebrate. A man worthy of pride .
Jealousy was not the proper term, but perhaps it was a longing, a wondering for what could have been if he’d stayed with Chapin and Baines. He held no desire for children—his time as the only son of Archibald Grant, Sr. had driven the urge for progeny from his blood—but he wished for that stability, the satisfaction that came with a job well done, a legacy in this world. Nathan Landon, with his bespoke suit and paisley silk necktie, emerald stick pin and gold pocket watch, may be bored, but he didn’t appear to be bothered by a life of drudgery.
He took another sip of port and stifled his wince. “Would you take a divorce case?”
“Lord, no. Messy business, divorce.” Nathan screwed up his features. “Is that what you’re up to these days?”
“Well, I’m considering it.” He ran a hand through his curls and tugged the ends. “I had an interesting case come through my door today.”
He explained the Marigold’s situation without mentioning their shameful prior meeting, and Nathan listened with rapt attention, his port abandoned.
“Difficult,” Nathan said, “but not impossible. Can you prove the infidelity?”
A thrill took root in Archie’s fingertips. If Nathan was interested in the case, perhaps he would help. “I think so.”
“Excellent. And the abuse…” He cringed. “If there are no witnesses to an assault, the argument usually fails.”
“What if he threatened to hurt her, or the children?” Archie cut in. “Would the fear be enough to constitute cruelty? ”
Nathan pointed at him, his eyes brightening. “Interesting angle. You’d need a scientist to argue mental harm is like physical harm, with bruises and such. Who is the bloke from Austria?”
“Freud?” Archie suggested, and Nathan nodded.
“That’s the one. Someone like him, who understands the mind. Most of the high court judges love that sort of testimony. If you find a head doctor, you’d have a chance. A slim one, but a chance.”
The faint hope in Archie’s chest sparked and began to put off light. “So, would it be worthwhile to pursue this?”
“Absolutely.” Nathan drained his port and signaled for another, while Archie declined. “Think of the publicity this case could give you. Your name would be splashed over every newspaper in England.”
His stomach turned, thinking of a stuttering voice and flushed cheeks. “The lady won’t want that publicity.”
Nathan scoffed. “If she wants a divorce, she’s going to get it. Everyone will be talking about the lady who left her husband. And, more importantly, her intrepid barrister who won her freedom.”
Archie tugged at his hair again. “This would consume my life. I wouldn’t be able to take on any other cases.” Lord, but that sounded lovely.
“Then don’t. You’ll make all the money you need from this case. I assume she can pay you?”
“She has some funds, but I doubt they’re significant.”
“The money will come from a settlement after.”
“And what if I lose? I haven’t tried a divorce before. I could be left with nothing. ”
“A solid effort will be enough to attract attention.” Nathan shrugged. “Maybe even get some attention from your former employers.”
Archie frowned. “Would Chapin and Baines take me back?”
“A case like this would impress them,” Nathan said with a shrug. “Prove you’re ready for bigger cases, more excitement. More reward.”
Risk rarely slowed him down, but Archie’s mind was spinning, its careening path leading him closer to the decision he knew he’d make as soon as she’d walked into his office.
He wanted this case. Not for the fame, not even for the intellectual stimulation.
But for her.
He wasn’t finished learning about her, understanding her, making sense of her actions. If she walked away from him now, he never would. Working on this divorce meant Marigold Torcross would be a fixture in his life, at least temporarily. If it brought him fame and fortune, all the more reason.
Nathan leaned forward, bracing one hand on his knee. “Do whatever it takes to win this case. And if you can’t, call as much attention to yourself as possible. Put the most inflammatory witnesses up for testimony, put the mistress on the stand. Whatever it takes, Archie. And whether you win or lose, your name will live in infamy.”
Archie hummed low in his throat. “I don’t believe infamy is a good thing.”
“In this profession, it’s the best thing.”